by J Wells
“Mum, Dad, Angie, Hughie…” I choke out. “What you doing here?”
Josh’s face is a picture as he smiles down at me.
“Josh, don’t say…” Grabbed by the hands, my words are stifled.
“Congratulations, love,” Mum cries, throwing her pale arms around my shoulders.
Her long black hair sticks to my face. I hug her back, brushing her hair away. What else can I do but stand open-mouthed?
“We’ll give you a wedding to remember, won’t we, Hughie?” Angela’s words drift towards me over the back of Mum’s head.
My left brow rises. Wedding? I didn’t agree to a wedding! Wide-eyed, I look to Josh for him to say something, anything, to tell them that this engagement is going to be indefinite.
“Tash,” Josh pipes up.
I blow a short sigh, thankful he’s going to put them straight.
“Mum and Dad said we can use their stately home for the venue.”
He beams like I should be excited; didn’t he listen to a word I said? Eight years; it’s as if we’ve been together all this time and he doesn’t know me. I can feel my teeth grinding. God, he’s thought this one out; this has been planned down to the finest detail, making sure all of the ‘I’s’ have been dotted and the ‘T’s’ have been crossed. I was wrong earlier, I haven’t been cajoled into an engagement, I’ve been herded into a corner, into a wedding.
At this moment, I realise I’m in an unenviable predicament, and I can’t see a way out.
May 2014
The sonographer squirts transparent gel over Adrianna’s bare stomach. She flinches.
“So,” the woman says in a bubbly voice, “if little one is agreeable, are we finding out today?”
Adrianna nods. Pushing her glasses further up the bridge of her upturned-nose, she runs her fingers through her short auburn hair.
The scanning room is small and dimly lit. Sitting by the door I feel quite out of things, so pull my chair closer towards the couch where she lies. I smile, in my own way asking for her approval. I don’t want her to feel that I’m intruding on her special moment. She returns the smile, and I relax back into my seat.
We gaze towards the screen and the flickering heartbeat as the alien-like baby squirms around. The apparatus glides over her bump; she reaches across from the couch, and we sit holding hands, holding our breath, waiting to find out what it is. Do I rush out and buy blue or pink?
“Still think team pink, eh?” I quiz.
Adrianna bites down on her bottom lip. “There’s a pink teddy in the bag down there,” she whispers.
Loosening my hand, she points to the floor.
I snigger. She’s so sure she’s having a girl that she’s almost managed to convince me. Taking a second glance at the pink-tinted plastic carrier, I wonder if there was any point in us coming here today.
Since moving back in full time with Mum and Dad, Adrianna had read every old wives’ tale I think had ever been invented on predicting the gender of the baby. She’d even got me involved in her little experiments. Five weeks ago I dangled her gold signet ring over her belly from a length of black cotton. The day after she stood over a jar and peed on bicarbonate powder to see if it would fizz. At 3 a.m. the following week I got a call from her. Get up, she told me, get down to the local supermarket and pick me up a red cabbage. She sounded desperate; her first craving came to mind, so I pulled on a pair of creased jeans and my black leather boots, and did as she asked. I waited with her while she boiled it in a saucepan. God, did it stink; I couldn’t believe she was going to put this in her mouth, but hey-ho, I’ve never been pregnant, so I got her a plate and a knife and fork. She proceeded to throw the cabbage leaves into the bin and strained the water into a Pyrex jug. Leaving me on a high-backed chair in the kitchen, she took it with her to the bathroom, peed in it and waited for the water to change colour. They were only three of the many tests she carried out, determined to find out the sex of her baby and even more determined that she was carrying a girl.
“I’m just taking a few measurements of the baby’s skull and femur bone… You did want a photo?”
“Yes, two photos please; and the sex, can you see what it is?” Adrianna prompts.
Her grey hair rustles as the sonographer shakes her head.
“It seems little one is shy and wants to keep us guessing.”
She gently prods Adrianna’s stomach.
“He or she doesn’t want to play ball this afternoon. We’ll give it another couple of minutes, and if still nothing, best you go for a walk around, have your bloods taken and I’ll call you back in twenty minutes or so.”
Adrianna retakes my hand; her palm feels clammy.
“Well?”
“Afraid not; baby’s legs are crossed.”
Ripping off a piece of couch roll, the woman wipes the remaining gel from my sister’s stomach.
“Pop off the bed, maybe a walk around and a drink will do the trick, get baby to change position.”
Seeing Adrianna’s face drop, I butt in. “And if baby doesn’t?”
“Well, in that case, if you still want to find out you’ll have to book a private scan; we have all we need here… Baby’s measurements are fine; everything is developing at the rate it should.”
I open the door. Straightening her black T-shirt, Adrianna turns back.
“Wouldn’t you agree looking at the scan that baby had a flat forehead?”
The sonographer frowns. “I can’t say I noticed.”
I grab my sister’s arm, guiding her back into the white-walled waiting area. Big-bellied women sit alongside the wall waiting for their turn to be called in. I assume it’s their mothers or partners that accompany them. I half-smile; it’s a shame Mum couldn’t be here for Adrianna, but lunch with a couple of her friends from the gym took precedence. I could see Adrianna’s disappointment when Mum told her she couldn’t make the appointment; Mum clearly had no intentions of changing her plans, though Adrianna had said nothing. She was just as stubborn in her own way and wouldn’t rebook the scan, so as usual they hit a stalemate. As for the baby’s father, we’ve never set eyes on him, not even seen his profile on Facebook, so he’s what Mum and I call her mystery man. Adrianna tells us he’s in the army and has been stationed in Iran. I can’t help wondering if he’s about as real as Jenny, the imaginary friend she made such a big deal about growing up.
“A flat forehead? Really?” I quiz.
“Yes, the skull theory. They say that if the baby has a flat forehead it’s a girl.”
“God, woman,” I titter, “get a grip. Most important thing is that baby’s healthy.”
“Yeah.” Her smile dissolves into a straight face. “Well, you would say that, being Mummy’s golden girl.”
“You what?”
“Shit, the teddy.”
She darts in front of a woman entering the scan room, and rather red-faced she runs out with the bag clasped under her arm.
“Just going to get my bloods taken,” she calls over. “Meet me in the café… I’ll have a decaf coffee and the largest muffin they sell.”
I meander past the reception area, stopping for a moment to pick up the scan pictures. The dark-haired receptionist smiles up at me from the call she’s taking, and it makes me wonder if she thinks I’m the one having the baby. Arguably I have piled on a few unwanted pounds, partially down to being content with Josh and probably more so his mum’s home-made delicacies. The woman is obsessed with cooking pasta, and piles my plate higher than anyone else’s. Angela’s old school, so you don’t dare leave a morsel on your plate or leave the table before asking permission to do so. I roll my eyes. Sweet sixteen; I was tiny then, a size six, and Josh’s hands could span my waist, but his mother’s constant nagging that I was far too thin has put paid to that. She tells me on a daily basis that before I walk down the aisle with her son she intends on fattening me up. To be honest, I’m more than happy with my size twelve figure, but I think she would prefer if I were a voluptuous size twenty
like her. My mind wanders to my own mum; ha, like she would ever let that happen.
I gaze down, reading the words ‘Antenatal Ultrasound Department’, and then grin as a cute-looking stork gazes back at me. It holds a muslin sheet in its beak with a tiny baby wrapped inside. I flick open the folded card. Funny that; Adrianna was right…
“The baby has got a flat head.”
The receptionist takes the receiver away from her ear, placing her hand over the mouthpiece.
“Excuse me?”
I catch her scrutinising me from under her false lashes.
“Sorry!” I laugh. “It’s me, I’m thinking aloud.”
I walk towards the exit leaving the antenatal department, holding the heavy glass door for a Chinese lady pushing twins in a double buggy. I hurry past the oncology department; my blood runs cold. What must it be like to live with that awful disease? Young and healthy, I consider myself very lucky.
I follow the signs arrowed around the walls.
“Gosh, I’m so sorry!” I squeak.
So intent on finding the café, I wasn’t looking where I was going and almost bumped headlong into a portly woman. She’s dressed in bright cerise pink, her hair tied in large bows with matching ribbons. She stands looking at me and rattles a red plastic container; I read the words ‘Cancer Research’ in black lettering.
Looking down, I unzip my patent handbag and shake it, listening for pound coins or any other silver to jangle. Upon hearing nothing, I search with my fingers.
“Sorry,” I say, reaching the bottom and only finding creased cinema tickets and receipts. “I don’t think I’ve got any change.” I pull out a folded twenty-pound note. “Just going to grab a bite to eat; I’ll be back.”
“If I had a pound for every time somebody said that, then this…” She rattles the container. “…would be full. No worries.” She grins. “Thanks anyway.”
Large-leafed rubber plants stand next to the window where I’ve sat waiting for the last half an hour. I’m getting quite bored of the view as I gaze out onto the hospital car park, with its flashing blue lights and comings and goings. If only Josh were here things would be different; he’d spend the whole time taking the piss out of almost everybody. Sometimes he would get a bit much, but I’m laughing so hard that there’s just no arguing. With him around there’s never a dull moment, and time passes so quickly. I glance up at the brilliant-white wall clock; it seems to be going slower by the minute.
I place my empty coffee mug down and take the last bite out of my cream scone. I tap my fingers over and over on the sticky tabletop; by the time Adrianna turns up, her coffee won’t be worth drinking. There’s no steam rising from her mug anymore and the dark liquid seems to have gained a second skin.
I wonder if she’s passed out having her bloods taken. Maybe I should head back to the antenatal department and check she’s not lying unconscious on a bed somewhere. I push my chair back, about to get up, when a hand waves, catching my attention.
“Took your time, didn’t you?” I frown.
Breathing heavily, Adrianna sits down opposite.
“Like everything with me, nothing’s straightforward,” she puffs, catching her breath. “The nurse couldn’t find a vein, so they had to ring through for a phlebotomist; he had no problem, and the vial was full in seconds. I hate needles; they normally hurt.”
She rolls up her sleeve and peels back the tape, lifting a small blood-stained piece of cotton wool from the bend of her arm.
“Look.” She shows me. “Not a bruise in sight. Oh, and then,” she continues, “I was called back into the scan room.”
“You could have rung me.”
“I did, but you didn’t answer. Mind you, didn’t expect you to; your phone is always on silent.”
She was right, so I couldn’t argue. Leaning forwards, I prop my head in my hands.
“Well?”
“Well nothing,” she mumbles, peering down into her mug. “Its bloody legs were still crossed.”
She scoops the skin off her coffee with a plastic spoon and takes a long sip.
“Guess you’ll have to go private after all.”
“I’m not going to bother, coz it’s more money going out that I haven’t got.”
I shake my head and reach across the table, leaning my hand over hers.
“No, it’ll be a present from me and Josh; just let me know how much and we’ll transfer the money into your account.”
“I don’t know why I asked for this,” she says.
Scrunching her nose, she picks up her muffin and wraps it neatly in a serviette.
“You feeling sick?”
She nods. “It comes and goes; guess it’s the smell in here.”
She lifts her arm, cupping her hand over her nose.
“The cooking’s making me gag. Can we just go home?”
They’ve changed the parking meters since the last time I visited Derby General. An elderly gentleman holding a wooden walking stick stands squinting at the instructions at an adjacent machine; the look on his face tells me he hasn’t got a clue either. He’s wearing an old man’s suit and an old man’s hat, and stands hunched over. Holding my ticket, I walk towards him.
“Press the green button.”
He turns towards me and grabs his chest.
“Oh, you made me jump, lass.”
If Josh were here he would be muttering ‘deaf old bastard’ under his breath, and I smile.
The elderly man grins and does as I tell him. There’s a pause, and I guess he’s waiting for his next instruction. I straighten my face.
“Then type in your registration…”
Squinting, he stands for a moment. “Sorry, duck, must be my age, almost forgotten it.”
“No worries.” I grin, thinking old age comes to us all.
With unsteady fingers, he presses the small metal buttons.
“Right, now press the green button again and pop your money in.”
“Thanks. God knows what I’d have done if you hadn’t come to my rescue.”
We walk out of the hospital together. I have no idea why, but waiting for him just seemed like the right thing to do. He’s trying to cram his whole life story into the few minutes it takes us to walk through to the car park. I retrace my steps to where my ocean-blue Mercedes sits; I can just make out Adrianna’s spiky hair above the headrest. Like many people his age who still know the concept of manners, unsteadily he reaches for the driver’s side door and opens it.
“Have a nice day,” he says, and dons his cap.
I buckle my seatbelt as he closes the door. With his stick on the tarmac, he shuffles away.
“Bloody hell, you took your time.” Adrianna spits crumbs of muffin all over my cream upholstery.
“Huh,” I mutter. “Don’t throw stones…”
“Yeah, yeah, glass houses, I know.”
“And you can vac that bloody chocolate off my seats when you get home.”
Adrianna rubs her bulging stomach and her eyes widen.
“Pregnant, remember?”
“Pregnant yes, invalid no!”
I throw my handbag over my shoulder, and it jangles as it lands on the seat behind.
“Damn, I was going back.”
Adrianna frowns.
“The charity box, I was meant to put some money in.”
I reach down to unbuckle my seatbelt.
“Two secs,” I say as I flick hair from my eyes.
“Don’t think so,” Adrianna spits, grabbing my elbow. “Charity starts at home, and home is where we’re heading… Drank so much before the scan I’m bursting for a piss.”
Guessing I’ll just have to do as I’m told, I turn the key in the ignition.
“Oh, by the way,” I add, throwing the photos into her lap, “I picked your scan pictures up from reception.”
“Yeah, they told me, ta. Got one for Mum, like she cares.”
“Don’t be daft, course she cares.”
I take my sunglasses from the vis
or and open the arms; slipping them on, I reverse out from between a black convertible and a 4 by 4.
“She’s got a funny way of showing it,” she snaps. “If it had been your pregnancy and your scan she’d have her boots blacked and ready to go. I’d put money on it, Tash, she won’t even ask how today went.”
“Sis, you’re being paranoid.”
We pass out of the hospital grounds. It’s a beautiful day, not a cloud to be seen. I turn on the air con, and in just a few moments it’s a lot cooler in here than it is out there, and out there it’s buzzing. A couple of hours of good weather and people are out in their droves; that’s England for you, normally wellies and umbrellas. I think everyone that has a dog in the neighbourhood is out walking it this afternoon. The Cock Inn is the third pub we’ve driven past, and people are huddled under blue and white striped parasols to escape the sun, while their kids jump and scream on a brightly coloured bouncing castle.
A shadow darkens my windscreen. Shit! I slam my fist on my horn. Bloody cyclists, and two abreast.
“Paranoid, am I? Well, we’ll see, won’t we? And be warned, no quiet words in the kitchen, no prompting her when I’m not around. We’ll soon see how interested Mum really is in me and her first grandchild.”
I can’t help but notice the change in Adrianna’s voice and the biting way she emphasises first grandchild. She can’t help herself, she just has to slip in that she got there before I did.
The cyclists are no more than black dots in my wing mirror as I flick the indicator before turning left.
“You know, Mum didn’t even believe me when I told her I was pregnant. She waltzed into the lounge, calling after me that she thought I was a lesbian.”
I suck in my cheeks, trying to hold back a snigger whilst shooting a glance Adrianna’s way. I can’t really blame Mum. Adrianna has never attempted to look or dress like a woman. It doesn’t matter what the occasion is, she always manages to look the same, wearing baggy black T-shirts with bold motifs of heavy metal bands lettered across the front.
She coughs loudly, clearing her throat. I look across, meeting her stare. The sun glares through the windscreen, creating the illusion that she has no hair, though that’s due to its fineness and how short she had it cropped.
